


*dishes* utterly ridiculous

by chocco_chaud



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bad Writing, Bottom Papyrus (Undertale), Counter Sex, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Vagina (Undertale), First Time, Gross, Height Differences, I Love You, Just Sex, Kitchen Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Not Good, Out of Character, Please Kill Me, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Quote: You're Gonna Have a Bad Time (Undertale), Rough Sex, Sans is Having a Bad Time (Undertale), Seriously this is weird, Sibling Incest, Silly, Stuttering, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Top Sans (Undertale), VENT FIC!!!, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Weird Plot Shit, Weirdness, Whump, Writer's Block, but i certainly didnt expect them to fuck on a sink when i started this, but like, excuse my terrible character establishment uwu, felt impulsive, he just doesn't knkow, here we go again, how do you tag, i guess, i hope u can handle some dubious logic, i mean! i definitely planne dthis super well with an Outline and Everything, i mean. it might go the way you think, i think i counted like 60 hyphens total so have fun wit hthat, im so tired., might delete later, ok im done tagging now this is too muhc, ok now im done goodnight, papyrus does not know what sex is, poor guy, rape/noncon, reverse, sex on a sink, sink sex (????), thats such a funny terrible tag omg, this is messy, this is silly, this whole thing make no sense im so tired HASAH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocco_chaud/pseuds/chocco_chaud
Summary: headcanon: papyrus actually extended the sink so that his brother wouldn't fuck him overtop it anymore :)(pls read the notes! <3)
Relationships: Papyrus/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	*dishes* utterly ridiculous

**Author's Note:**

> on a serious note, i wrote this to come out of a writer's block and it shows. not my best work by far but i hope it's still somewhat enjoyable! sorry for my radio silence over the past like month, i've just been trying really hard to get over this dumb stupid writer's block afj;klsd,, so this is kind of zany and weird and slow paced and silly and ooc and i'm sorry in advance 
> 
> so another r*pe fic (can you tell i like hurting papyrus. promise im done after like the next 6) there's some logistical errors like. gg papyrus on not falling in <3 but i hope its enjoyable overall! 
> 
> now that i'm done trashing my fic, uh, enjoy teehee

He took a deep, steadying breath, and rolled tense shoulders into a casual slump. Forced flickering eye lights to steady under half-closed lids. Took a step forward, pelvis grazing the lip of the counter, arm brushing up against Papyrus’s. He was washing the dishes, a little too tall for the sink; hunched over awkwardly, up to his wrists in soapy foam as he scrubbed with a certain attentive intensity, one Sans easily lost himself in, watching the taller skeleton intently, hesitantly.

_Get the fuck away from him. Right now._

“Hey, Papyrus.”

_Stop this, stop it_ now _before you can’t take it back._

“Hello, Sans.”

Papyrus flashed a quick, fleeting grin, eyelights flickering vaguely in his older brother’s direction. He kept up his scrubbing, focused wholly and intently on the dirtied dinner plate he was working at. Gaze still intently tracking his brother, Sans let thin, long phalanges curl deliberately over their kitchen counter, tips of his fingers pressed hard into its pristine granite edge. Calming himself, as best he could.

_Don’t fucking do this._

“You almost done there, Paps?”

He stiffened a little, then, against Sans, brow quirking.

_Please._

“Nearly done!” Papyrus quipped, “it’d be done a lot quicker if you, er, quit crowding me.”

Sans shifted, but did not move, keeping his arm set flush against Papyrus’s, even as Papyrus shied away from the odd contact. The sickeningly flowery scent of dish soap sent a wave of nausea rolling through Sans’s core.

“Sans,” Papyrus muttered, glancing irritatedly down at the shorter skeleton, “as much as I enjoy your company, I enjoy not spilling hot water all over myself just a little bit more. And if you keep _leaning_ -”

“Shh,” Sans mumbled, leaning a little bit harder, meriting a gentle sway from the taller skeleton, “jus’ lemme watch.”

“Can’t you watch from somewhere that isn’t practically on top of me?”

“Sorry, bro,” he grimaced weakly, “too tired to move. _Dishes_ it for me.”

“Sans!” Papyrus shifted a little, trying to gain at least some leverage as he scrubbed, a little faster now. Sans felt Papyrus’s body move against him, relished in the closeness of it, his own body occasionally jostled by the motion. 

_You’re fucking disgusting, you know that?_

But he didn't care, and that was the problem; he couldn't bring himself to care. He could try. He could tell himself he was disgusting, that he was a terrible person, that he was sick. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered, and he could do whatever he wanted, however terrible he felt in the moment, however dully and tiredly shitty he felt about it, because it didn't matter. It would all go away eventually. 

“You’re warm.”

He wondered how he felt, the first time he’d thought about doing this. Horrified. Disgusted. Ashamed. It’d been a long time ago. Hundreds of resets ago, he thought; he fell into it with such sickening ease, nowadays, this fantasy of his. It couldn’t have been new. But he didn’t remember. 

There weren’t very many things he did remember. 

He’d thought about this for so, so long, and thinking about something is the same as doing it, if you have infinite time, infinite resets, to forget why you thought it was wrong in the first place.

“Warm?”

“Mhm,” Sans moved a little closer, drawing an irritated huff from his brother, eyesockets near completely closed, now. He tried to relax, tried to at least _seem_ relaxed, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t lose the shame weighing on his shoulders, couldn’t lose his jittery nervousness.

_You’re going to hurt him._

“I hate to break it to you, Sans,” he muttered, gaze, annoyed as it was, still focused entirely on the dishes in front of him, “but I haven’t got any flesh. I am constantly at room-temperature.” 

“Maybe,” Sans offered tiredly, chuckling, “I’m just cold, then.”

“Perhaps.”

They stood like that, flush against one another, for a little while. Close, uncomfortably close, too close to brush off, Sans knew, knew from the stiffness of his brother’s body against his. Neither of them were even close to content with their circumstances.

_Just don’t. You don’t want to hurt him._

Even if you don’t right now you’ll end up hurting him later, and you won’t feel any better about it then.

_Don’t you fucking dare._

“Hey, Paps?”

Papyrus had given up on being annoyed with Sans, it seemed, too focused on finishing up with the dishes to ward him off. He did not so much as blink, now, his shoulder loosening a little against Sans’s temple.

“Yes, Sans?”

“Do you wanna maybe try something with me?”

_Please don’t. Please._

“Uh,” Papyrus started, chuckling a little, “I’m all for trying new things, but I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“Don’t really need your full attention,” Sans shifted a little, craning his neck to get a better glimpse of the expression on Papyrus’s face, “just need you to stay still.”

Papyrus’s harsh scrubbing slowed, his shoulder tensing up once more. Sockets narrowed, he shot Sans a quizzical look, the corners of his mouth turned down with exasperation. 

“What is it that you want to try, exactly?”

Sans smiled, a tired, instinctive shame pulling at the corners of his grin, and let one socket fall shut in a lazy wink. He cocked his head to the side, slow, minute, and let a hand drag languidly over Papyrus’s shoulder blade, catching in the awkward hollows of his armor.

“S’a surprise,” he mumbled, “to help you de-stress. I know you work hard.”

Papyrus softened a little, the hesitancy drifting from his expression, bit by bit. He drew his shoulder forwards and away from Sans’s hand, but didn’t move to push him away, glancing sideways at him with a vaguely suspicious look in his eye.

“That is true. I do work hard…”

“You really do,” Sans grinned a little wider, raising a brow, “Lemme do something nice for ya. I’m proud of you, bro.”

That was cruel. That was unnecessarily cruel of him, and he knew it, and he was all but crushed by the guilt of it when he saw his little brother’s expression brighten, saw the hesitancy leave his face. Saw full, implicit trust there, in his gaze. 

_Don’t do this. Please._

“Oh, alright,” Papyrus sighed heavily, “but this better not be a setup for some… some elaborate practical joke, or something.” 

_I can’t stop._

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Paps,” Sans broke their gaze, eyelights blinking out as soon as he knew Papyrus could no longer see them. He leaned a little harder, legs heavy with a deep, numbing shame as he shuffled backwards a few short steps, still pressed as hard as he could manage against his brother. 

Papyrus had trusted him. So easily. So incredibly, heartbreakingly easily. 

He couldn’t stop. 

“Can I trade in this ‘something nice’ for a chore? It would be very de-stressing if you cleaned your room.”

“Nice try,” Sans snickered, and, grabbing gentle hold of Papyrus’s bare upper arm, stepped into place with limbs that did not want to cooperate, pressing himself flush against his brother’s broad back, wincing at the sudden stiffness that came over the younger skeleton.

He hated it, hated the rush of arousal that pulsed through him at his brother’s touch, burning hot in every single place they met, every individual point of contact, and he needed more, so much more. He’d needed this for so long. He’d waited so, so long.

_You’ll hurt him._

“Woah,” Papyrus muttered, chuckling again, a little quieter, “that’s, er.”

Face pressed into Papyrus’s shoulder, he hastily shoved his guilt back down where it rose, heavy, persistent, a raw and unpleasant burning in his soul. His movements were slow and shaky with hesitancy, with that deep, burning shame, even as he lazily dragged his free hand over the swooping ridge of Papyrus’s ilia.

“Oh.”

Papyrus braced against Sans’s touch, halting. Unsure. Sans leaned into it, dipping two fingers under the elastic hem of the younger skeleton’s shorts, another pulse of arousal tearing through his soul, hot and disgusting and wonderful, his head light and fuzzy with the perverse excitement of it all.

Slowly, his grip on Papyrus’s arm tightening just a little bit, Sans let his fingers skim lower, over the gentle hollows of his pelvis, between his ilia, pressing the tips of sharp phalanges into the little holes chiseled into his sacrum.

“That’s-” Papyrus was breathless, his shoulders slacking a little bit, hands clenching into unsure fists at his sides, “what a-are you doing?”

Sans didn’t answer, letting his fingers slip out of Papyrus’s sacrum, dragging them gently along the bumpy, sensitive bone there, choking on nothing as Papyrus bucked backwards, away from the touch and against Sans, driving their bodies closer to each other and sending another sick bout of pleasure through Sans’ trembling bones. 

“Uh, I d- I don’t-” 

Papyrus had all but given up on the dishes, his body weak and heavy against Sans’, arms hanging loosely at his sides. He struggled with the sensation, trembling, breath shallow and soft as he squirmed.

“Sans, what-”

His words were lost to a strangled cry, his back arching awkwardly against Sans’ chest as his hand drifted downward, further between his ilia and over his coccyx, a few thin phalanges wrapping around the sensitive bit of bone and tugging at it. Papyrus moaned, a strange, unsure sound, his trembling hands shooting jaggedly up in front of him, aimless, awkward, clenched into half fists. 

“W-wait, I don’t- I don’t know if this-”

Sans pressed harder, digging sharp phalanges into the delicate bone, rearing stiffly back as Papyrus shook and twitched against him, gasping. Sans swayed a little with the motion, pushed steeply back by the sheer intensity of his brother’s trembling.

“Ah! S-Sans, wait!”

He hated this, hated that he was doing this, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop pushing, drawing those gorgeous moans from the mess of a monster leaning on him. His coccyx was hot, now, burning under Sans’s fingers, inklings of magic settling apprehensively between his ilia. 

Papyrus gasped, shoulders hunched as he grappled with the overwhelming mix of unfamiliar sensations, his ribcage halting and stuttering as he struggled for air.

_Do you think he even knows what this is? What you’re doing to him?_

“You’re doing so good,” Sans muttered, fingers finding a quick, unrelenting rhythm, “so good, Paps.”

Papyrus only cried out, and Sans wanted to see his face, wanted to see the fear, the confusion, the arousal. Wanted to watch him twitch and gasp and moan, wanted to see that adorable wide-eyed betrayal. 

But he couldn’t. Couldn’t look at him. He’d have to stop if he did.

“What’s h-happening?” 

Sans didn’t answer. He released his tight grip on his brother’s arm and reached down, palming himself through his shorts, groaning at the intense wave of hot, shameless pleasure that tore through his lower half at the sensation, tight and numbing and electric. Christ, he’d never felt this good. There was something about Papyrus, something about that plain, straightforward innocence in his tone, his face, something about that intensely childish pride he carried. Something irresistibly alluring. 

_You’re sick. You’re fucking sick, you know that?_

Bucking desperately into his hand, he withdrew his fingers from between Papyrus’s ilia, earning a soft, shaky sigh from the taller skeleton, his shoulders going slack as he relaxed, just a little. 

Grunting, still working sloppily at his own cock, he peered around his brother’s shaking shoulder and between his legs, noting, with a tinge of nausea, the soft, near imperceptible orange glow he saw there. That had been... quicker than he'd thought. 

“Jus’ stay still. It’ll feel so good, I promise.”

Sans put one hand over his own cock, working himself through his shorts once again, and let the other dislodge Papyrus’s bottoms from his hips, relishing in the embarrassed shriek this wrought as he slid his brother’s shorts down and over his femurs.

“What- what is tha-”

_He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what’s happening and you’re just gonna keep going?_

He couldn’t stop. 

He dragged fingers along the inside of his brother’s trembling femur, soft, high mewls wrenched from his ribcage at the gentle contact. He’d never have guessed Papyrus would be so sensitive. He loved it, loved the little moans and whimpers he got, loved the twitching and bucking and gasping.

Grazing the surface of his ischium, traveling further, deeper than that, Sans dragged a single, shaky finger between the tight lips of his brother’s throbbing, wet pussy, his entire body on fire with sheer, fiery adrenaline.

“Oh,” he was shaking near violently, now, his words soft and broken, “oh.”

Sans, fingers dipping between Papyrus’s swollen lips, was lost in ecstasy, now, woozy with need, need strong enough to whisk away his shame, to take him fully and completely as he added a finger, rubbing clumsily at his brother’s lips and bucking hard into his own hand, shorts soaked through with precum.

Papyrus was leaning nearly his entire weight on Sans at this point, weak and heavy and gasping, the occasional moan pulled from his chest when fingers grazed over his swollen, twitching clit, seeping thick wetness around his brother’s fingers.

“W-wait,” he gasped, “I don’t-”

“Shh,” Sans mumbled, “it’s alright. Jus’ let me take care of you.”

“Brother, I- I don’t…”

  
  


He let his fingers, coated thickly in his brother’s slick, drag slowly over his twitching clit, rubbing circles against the sensitive nub, drawing from him a choked, raw cry. He was throbbing, his lips hot as wetness seeped generously over Sans’s fingers,.

“You’re so good,” Sans growled, low, keening, “you’re so fucking good, you’re perfect.”

“I don’t like this, brother,” and Sans wanted nothing more than to see his face, to know if there were tears there, to meet his gaze and devour the fear and betrayal he knew he would see, “It’s w-weird, it feels-”

Sans pressed harder, and he felt Papyrus’s knees buckle, felt him waver as he shrieked, gasping, hands clenching into tight fists in front of him. He rubbed incessantly, quick, brutal strokes that had him bucking, voluntarily or not, desperately against his older brother’s hand.

“Stop it,” he managed, a small, pained whine, “please, stop it!”

Sans didn’t slow down, even as his hand ached in its awkward position. He wanted to see, wanted to see everything, wanted to look at his brother’s dripping cunt, watch him twitch and leak around his fingers, wanted to watch his soul throb and quiver in his ribcage. 

But, then, he’d chosen to do it like this for a reason, hadn’t he?

“Please, i-it’s-” he was struggling with every breath, ribcage stuttering, “it’s so awkward, please-”

“You’re doing good,” Sans mumbled, “so good.”

And his fingers moved from Papyrus’ clit, soaked and dripping with thick, hot slick, moving slowly between his soaked lips once again, teasing a little at his hole.

“Stop it, stop, stop-”

Sans tried it, struggled to push his fingers inside, palming himself desperately through his shorts as he barely managed even one. He was so fucking _tight,_ clenching and unclenching weakly around Sans’ single digit, walls spasming against his pointer as he struggled with the intrusion.

He wanted to fuck him. Wanted to fuck him right here, against the fucking sink, wanted to fuck him deep and hard, wanted to be his first and only and he wanted to make him his, cum inside him, over and over. Wanted to rip that pretty innocence from him, wanted to watch it leave his eyesockets. There was so much he wanted and so much he had to ruin to get it. 

“O-ow, th-” Papyrus squirmed, a little harder, now, “that _hurts_.”

  
Sans pushed deeper still, managing, with a little extra force, to get a second finger inside, his pointer and his middle buried knuckle deep in his brother’s dripping cunt. He dropped the hand on his cock and ground desperately up against Papyrus, grunting weakly, desperate to be closer, desperate to feel him. He needed more. He needed to feel Papyrus around him. 

_Isn’t this enough? Aren’t you satisfied?_

“That hurts,” he gasped, “please, I don’t u-understa-ahah!”

Sans started moving, driving his fingers as deep as he could, slow, deliberate thrusts as he bucked, over and over, against Papyrus’s ilia, groaning under Papyrus’s short gasps and cries. It was so, so good, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t nearly enough. 

_Please. Please just let this much be enough._

“Brother, ple-please, I don’t like this, I don’t-”

_You’ll hurt him. You’ll actually fucking hurt him._

Not a few minutes had passed before Sans couldn’t wait any longer. It was good, touching him like this, making him moan and gasp and writhe, but it wasn’t good enough. And he hated it, he hated that he needed more, that the pain and confusion he’d inflicted hadn’t been enough. 

But he didn’t care enough to stop.

Sighing weakly, he pulled his fingers out, secured a tight grip on each of his brother’s ilia, and, before Papyrus had the chance to feel even temporary relief, whirled him around, a slow, building wave of arousal crashing through him at the sight.

Papyrus’s broad chest heaved weakly, shallowly, his eyesockets half lidded and full to the brim with pain and confusion and tentative arousal as he panted, fighting halfheartedly for air. A deep blush had fallen over him, too, a gentle glow sketched over his cheekbones, tired and warm. He was slumped, arms hanging loosely at his sides, his slick trailing down his femurs, legs trembling underneath him as he struggled, swaying, to stay standing. 

Most overwhelming, most fucking _stunning,_ was the sheer, blank innocence Sans saw there, that trust still unwavering in his quiet, pained gaze, as if he was searching Sans for some simple, easy explanation that cleansed him of all wrongdoing. As if he truly believed there had to be one.

God, he was so, so beautiful. So delicately, intricately gorgeous, all panting and dripping like this, disoriented and scared. So irresistibly perfect.

“S-Sans…”

He wasn’t crying yet, Sans noted, a little disappointed, and let his gaze travel further down his younger brother’s body. He was shaking, his knees crossed awkwardly in a bashful attempt to shield himself, to hide his dripping cunt from Sans. He wondered, vaguely, wether Papyrus was just shy, or scared of him.

_You’re fucking insane. You’re disgusting. Let him go. Please just let him go._

Oh, will you just give it up already?

“I don’t like this,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely towards his pelvis, blush intensifying, “it feels s-so, uh, awkward. C-can we be done, please?”

“Just a little bit more.”

“I don’t want to,” he said, a little louder, exhaustion bleeding into his expression, “th-thank you f-for trying to do something nice, b-but-”

He cried out in surprise, grabbing uselessly at Sans’ hands as he, still tightly gripping his ilia, heaved him, with great effort, up and onto the lip of the sink. He struggled weakly for balance, back slamming hard against the wall behind him, entire body crushed awkwardly between Sans, who stood square between his legs, and the wall. 

It was not often that the two brothers found themselves at eye level, this being one of few rare exceptions; Papyrus, all slumped and splayed out across the sink, might’ve even had to crane his neck a little to meet his brother’s gaze. 

“L-let me go,” he begged, “I d-don’t like this. It’s n-no-”

“You can take a little more,” Sans urged, tugging at the hem of his shorts, “come on. You’re so strong, jus’ stay still.”

Papyrus raised a hand to his face, pressing a shaking, gloved fist against his teeth, uncertainty only growing, ribcage heaving with shallow, weak breaths; he looked an utter mess, all blushing and flustered and panting, legs splayed out so nicely for Sans. Soaked, throbbing pussy, unused and perfect, exposed, ready. 

Sans pulled his shorts down over his aching cock, groaning loudly at the rush of cold air that hit his sensitive ectoflesh, a gentle rush of pleasure warming his pelvis. He needed this so badly, he wasn’t even fucking thinking, his entire body shaking with intense, roaring desire. He couldn’t stop himself. He didn't really even want to, not when he thought about it. Not when the shame, that frivolous, momentary shame, went away. No. He didn't give a shit. He needed this so, so badly. He throbbed, practically dripping precum as he moved forward, hastily lining himself up with Papyrus’s hole.

“Wait, w-what are you-”

Without a beat’s hesitation, he pushed up against him, forcing the tip of his cock into- or, rather, _against_ his hole, intense twinges of arousal hitting him as he struggled forward. Fuck, he was so, so unbelievably fucking _tight_.

“Ow- ah-” Papyrus squirmed, clamping a hand over his mouth, eyesockets widening quickly with pain as Sans fought a little harder, getting a grip on the base of each of Papyrus’s femurs and _thrusting_ , just barely managing to bury a few inches of himself inside.

“Fuck,” he gasped, twitching as Papyrus wailed underneath him, clenched around his cock, struggling with its girth, tears finally building along the rim of the younger skeleton’s sockets. His chest heaved, shoulders trembling with the effort of so much as pulling in a single breath, each exhale coming as a pained cry.

“Ow, ow- it hurts,” he begged, “brother, _please_ , p-please-”

“G-good boy,” Sans snarled, pushing deeper still, Papyrus’s back arching a

gainst the sink as he loosed another pained wail, eyelights blinking out completely, “good boy. Stay still for me.”

“It _hurts_!” 

Sans, with an effortful heave, finally managed to push himself all the way inside, buried in his brother’s cunt up to his hips, his cock throbbing inside him, dripping precum as Papyrus twitched and clenched relentlessly around the intrusion, surrounding him fully, completely; he was warm inside, so warm, and wet, and _everywhere._

“Oh, god,” Sans gasped, inaudible under the pained screams and cries Papyrus still struggled through underneath him, “oh god, you’re so good. You’re so good.”

“ _Stop_ , p-please,” Papyrus begged, incoherent, as Sans, hands clenched tightly around his younger brother’s shaking femurs, pulled out a little, “stop it, s-stop it...”

Sans reached down with one hand, and, as he bucked forwards and back inside of his younger brother’s relentlessly tight cunt, rubbed once again at his clit, Papyrus still dripping wet enough to handle the contact, even as he writhed and choked underneath his big brother’s touch.

“Too much,” he begged, “I feel- it feels so weird, it hurts, Sans, it _hurts._ ”

He felt distant, all of a sudden. Empty. Numb, wholly and overwhelmingly numb as he fucked into his little brother, over and over and over again, ilia meeting ischia each time. Papyrus writhed and gagged and screamed underneath him, and it was _beautiful,_ but it was far away. Far enough away that Sans didn’t have to feel bad, far enough away that he didn’t even try.

Each thrust rocked Papyrus awkwardly against the wall behind him, his pelvis ground into the lip of the sink. Even as Sans kept up rubbing at his clit in slow, careful motions, dragging the pad of his thumb over his brother’s translucent-orange ectoflesh with a detached sort of gentility, Papyrus seemed void of pleasure, his chest heaving in great, gasping sobs, face red with pain and humiliation as he wailed.

It all seemed so much faster, now, even as each thrust took a good few seconds of effort, even as pulling out proved an equal task. 

“ _Please_ stop, please,” Papyrus was near incoherent in his desperate pleading, “No, nonono...”

Sans didn’t say anything, _couldn’t_ say anything. It didn’t feel real. None of this felt real, and he thought it might never hit him, that inevitable realization, that horror. Maybe he could just stay there, lost in his own ecstasy, forever. Sure felt that way, each thrust bringing about a low, deep twinge of hot, electric pleasure, his pelvis on fire with the sheer intensity of it all.

It was so good. Good beyond anything he could’ve imagined. Papyrus clenching and throbbing around him, his entire body wracked with shudders that only pushed Sans deeper inside him. Gaining leverage was hard, the sink being just a little taller than was comfortable, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

He was fucking his little brother, and he found it hard to fixate on anything else.

“S-Sans,” he was barely legible, even, words slurred and desperate between shallow, gasping breaths, “what- what is this?”

Sans looked down at him, thrusts slowing, sockets narrowing. He was panting, splayed awkwardly out across the sink, his shoulders hunched and shaking as he fought sobs. His face stained a deep red, wet with tears, one gloved hand clenched into a fist over his teeth. His gaze, still fiery and raw with pain, was a little stranger now. Tinged with something else.

“Does that feel good?”

Papyrus shook his head, and Sans pushed _deeper,_ as deep as he could, his brother’s body crushed even further against the wall with the force of it. A low, strangled moan dragged from Papyrus’s ribcage, his back arching, eyesockets screwed shut. 

“It does, doesn’t it?”

Chest heaving, he shook his head once more, a new bout of tears threatening to spill from his sockets. Sans, grinning airily, sped up a little, still working at his clit, Papyrus’s flesh warm and languid under his fingers.

“Please g-get off of me,” and Sans pulled his hips forward, dragging him by his femur, forcing his pelvis over the counter’s edge, his waist suspended awkwardly between Sans’ body and the sink behind him. Hips level with Sans’. 

Thrusting harder, _faster,_ Sans was getting close, his soul beating hard and fast in his ribcage, the movement of his hand against Papyrus’s clit growing rough and uncoordinated. Twitching and gasping and moaning underneath him, Papyrus squirmed, _writhed,_ an utter mess. Begging incoherently. _Stop it, brother, stop it, please just stop._

_Stop._

“Make me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Make me stop,” Sans snarled, fucking his brother’s pelvis fast and hard against the counter behind him, ilia slamming hard against granite with every brutal thrust. He wouldn’t be walking for days, at this rate.

“N-” Papyrus sobbed, slumping, “wh- no, I can’t…”

“Why not?”

Sans looked into Papyrus’s eyesockets, and even through the haze of arousal he’d surrounded himself in, even as his hips snapped against Papyrus’s over and over and over, even as he let himself slip further into empty, mindless bliss, he could’ve sworn he saw _love_ , there. Trust.

“Be-because I don-” 

“Because it’s good, isn’t it? You- you fucking _slut,_ ” and he laughed, a bitter, cruel sound, and there were tears stinging at _his_ sockets, now, “you fucking _love_ this, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand,” he wailed, “please…”

_Please stop it, please just fucking stop._

“How long you been waiting for this, huh?” He was lost now, eyesockets empty and wild, “how long have you wanted your big brother’s cock inside you?”

He could only shake his head, his body twitching and convulsing in brutal shocks of pain, one after another, as Sans sped up even further, hot and gasping and ferociously close, his soul on fire. It almost hurt.

“Fucking push me off!” 

Papyrus was bucking, Sans noticed, against Sans’s hand, bucking into his fingers and withdrawing his hips immediately, his clit hot and throbbing under Sans’ fingers. They were both so, so close.

“You won’t even t-try,” he grunted, “you’re pathetic.”

And with that, and a few erratic, slurred thrusts, Sans came, deep as he could manage, a low, animalistic groan ripped from him as he emptied himself into his writhing little brother. He felt numb, his entire body wracked with shivers, knees buckling and straightening underneath him as he fought to keep his balance. 

Papyrus was positively _sobbing_ as Sans pulled out, his thumb still rubbing jerky, careless circles into his clit, mindlessly determined. It only took a few seconds of careless, robotic stimulation before Papyrus came, too, bucking desperately up into his brother’s hand, hot spurts of slick dripping from Sans’ fingers as Papyrus’ cunt throbbed deeply under his touch. 

He didn’t look at him. Didn’t want to touch him, didn’t want to have to see. 

Sans, hands trembling, gingerly grabbed hold of his brother’s hips, heaving him stiffly off of the sink, watching distantly as he slid to his knees. He sobbed, pressing himself up against the counter, a broken, weeping pile of bones. Shaking, broken, he didn’t look at Sans, his eyesockets void and half-closed, trained tiredly on the floor in front of him.

_Look what you did._

He stumbled backwards. Nauseous, grasping at the hem of his shorts, tugging stiffly, desperate to cover up, to get out. To forget. Shame, though dulled by his bliss, hit him _hard,_ stealing his breath from him, his eyesockets widened with horror as he stared emptily down at the monster splayed out before him. But it was temporary, he knew. All this was temporary. He'd had his fun, and maybe he'd even have it again. He didn't know. He couldn't bring himself to care for longer than a few seconds. 

Disheveled, crying, Papyrus looked _awful,_ his legs drawn halfheartedly together, a pile of spilt magic, a sickening, translucent blend of teal and orange, pooling slowly between his femurs. He stared down at it, confused, disgusted, his shoulders heaving with each broken sob. His eyesockets, wide and empty, were filled to the brim with pain, with broken trust and with humiliation. He looked awful.

_He looks beautiful._

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, does it? You know that. It’ll all go away soon enough. He won’t remember for very long. He won’t hurt for very long. 

_Look at him. Look what you did to him._

Sans took a step forward, slow, careful, shoving his guilt down to be rationalized and suppressed later. It was not long before he found himself knelt in front of his brother, the experience surreal; watching Papyrus sob on the kitchen floor, bare and vulnerable and broken. Because Sans had raped him. Because Sans had hurt him. It was something he'd thought about so many times, so often that he could hardly process this as _real._

"Hey," he whispered, allowing a single, trembling hand to find it's place on Papyrus's skull, cupping his cheekbone delicately, only following him when he flinched away from the touch. "Hey, Papyrus, it's okay. You did so good."

He allowed a single beat to pass, watched blankly, filled with recycled shame, as Papyrus shook his head against Sans's hand, silent, frightened. Terrified, even. He took a deep, steadying breath. Watched carefully as Papyrus calmed down. Gave him a few extra seconds, dragging his thumb gently over his cheekbone, muttering praise under his breath.

"You did so good," he said, low, offering his best reassuring grin, allowing his eyesockets to soften with manufactured warmth. He couldn't mask that sharpness entirely, though, couldn't completely hide the poison- or, just underneath that, the shame- he'd tried so hard to suppress. He'd hoped this would stop it. He'd hoped this would satisfy him, but it didn't. It couldn't have. Nothing ever would, not really. He had infinite time and infinite opportunities, and a single attempt, a single try, would never be enough. He needed so much more.

"It'll be so much easier next time."

**Author's Note:**

> i love u for getting thru this weird, silly, oddly paced monstrosity <3


End file.
